my faithful dog
followed me
down through the dew
to the lingering
late summer garden
as if he can sense the star dust
i am made from
is 60 billion years old
and therefore i am
of an age to be trusted
passing my studio
metal shop
a gossiping pond
half dressed naked lady plants
whore leaning
and a gathering
of wind chime monks
who have broken
their vows of silence
to help me gather
truant tomatoes
perfectly green
for frying
sweet zing
of pungent plants
intoxicating
as i placed
rain and earth spattered
fruit from the vine
into my apron
four legged vinnie
picked up the ones
i dropped on the ground
in his jaw
with the greatest of care
and returned them slowly to the bunch
with only a few new holes
and a smile
telling me
of god
